


The Butterfly

by miranaslanbey



Category: Hercai
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Idiots in Love, Married Couple, Married Life, Married ReyMir, Meddling Kids, One Shot, Post-Canon, ReyMir Kids, Turkish Dizi, Turkish Show, Turkish TV, Türkçe | Turkish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 16:03:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miranaslanbey/pseuds/miranaslanbey
Summary: The day after Reyyan and Miran's tenth wedding anniversary, their kids break the butterfly pin she was wearing when he first saw her years ago.





	The Butterfly

Winter had come sooner this year. The cold crept in the forbidding stones of the mansion, freezing the glass panes, waking Miran up. His hand reached for the other side of the bed, for Reyyan, but it was empty. Warm, even. She’d been up for a while.

Ah, of course. It was Sunday. The kids must have woken her up early for breakfast. They never missed going to their grandparents’ for the day. Which worked just fine for him, giving him an entire day with his wife.

Miran pushed himself up on his elbows, and gasped.

In front of the mirror, he pulled the neck of his shirt down, studying the echoes of the wound. It had been years, but some days, his shoulder still hurt. He kept it a secret. What better reminder of what he’d done, of what he had to fix for the rest of his life? Besides, he rested easy knowing if Reyyan could shoot him, she could do anything. He was always worried for her, that wasn’t something he could ever change about himself, but there was the sound of the gun at the back of his head reminding him what she was capable of.

The door opened, and Reyyan swept in, bringing in the scent of winter roses and warm tea. Of his Reyyan. She stopped when she saw he was next to the mirror and turned to face him. There was no sun outside, it was a bitter gray day, but there was no need for one. She was the sun. And the moon, and the stars. She was everything, everything was her.

“A simple choice,” he said, one hand already around her waist, “we can leave this room or we can continue last night.” He leaned for a kiss, receiving only a glare in return. That’s when he knew he should probably release her and step back.

“Your children,” she said, hands on her hips, one curl of hair gently brushing the corner of her lips, “are a mess.”

#

Miran stared at the fragments of the butterfly pin on the breakfast table. He hadn’t moved for an entire minute, and Reyyan wasn’t sure what to say to break that silence. Of course she was mad at Alihan and Leyla, but now, with Miran’s anger rising, she wished she’d kept quiet. They both shared memories with the blue butterfly, but it was different for him. She should’ve realized that.

“It was an accident, baba,” Alihan murmured.

“Saçma,” Miran snapped. “That was—that was—” He looked at Reyyan helplessly. Whatever he saw on her face dispelled the rage that she knew was building in him.

“That was your mother’s favorite pin!” His voice cracked. His hands clamped down on his head, as if it was his fault. Indirectly, it might be; he brought it out of her wardrobe yesterday for their tenth anniversary. He wanted her to wear it for their dinner and later, well, it was his fault she’d dropped the pin in the courtyard.

Good thing Alihan and Leyla hadn’t come across the rest of her clothes and accessories strewn across the hallway up to Miran and Reyyan’s bedroom. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could still see a scarf entangled in the flower pots next to the stairs. She guiltily looked forward, back to the present.

“That was when I first—” Miran closed his mouth. He caught her eye, and she knew he was back at the museum. What could either of them say that would make the kids understand what that pin was?

“Anne has more pins,” Leyla pouted. Her hair was tied in chaotic buns on either side of her head, just like Gül used to as a child. She was staring defiantly at her father, leaning against the balustrade behind her. God, Leyla was always so daring, even in Miran’s face. That was his fault, too, technically.

“Don’t you talk back to me!”

Reyyan stepped closer to Miran, his tone was splintering. But his jaw was tightened, eyebrows pulled down. He was always so terrifying when he looked like this. It reminded her of before. She didn’t want to think of before.

To the kids, it wasn’t obvious. They’d never known him before, after all. The Miran they knew was their father who loved them, who would go to war for them, who would crash mountains down for them.

And if anything, he looked close to tears.

“I said sorry,” Leyla said. She nudged Alihan. They looked so similar, down to that straight cut of their nose, just like their father.

Alihan didn’t move, he just made a face at his sister, and begged her to be quiet. He didn’t need to say it; Reyyan had seen that gesture enough.

“Okay,” she said, slipping her hand softly around Miran’s wrist, encircling it. His pulse was frantic. “Now that we all know what happened, and we clearly understand this should not have happened, it is done. It is over. You should apologize properly and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“I’m sorry,” Alihan said immediately.

Leyla continued to look upset, but said nothing.

“Your mother was wearing it the first time I saw her,” Miran said quietly, unexpectedly.

“Miran—” Reyyan said, but he looked at her, and she quietened at the earnestness in his eyes.

“I fell in love with her that day,” he continued. “I saw nothing except her from that day on. There was an understanding that I had reached my destination. Everything I did afterward was pointless. None of it mattered because I’d already found my peace. I was just too stupid to see it.”

Alihan looked alarmed at the direction this conversation was going in. He probably would’ve preferred his father yelling at him instead as he scraped his shoe, cheeks going pink. Perfect punishment for him, apparently. His sister, however, leaned forward.

“Your mother is my first and only love,” Miran said so low even the wind paused to hear his words. “So many things we share belong to days neither of us can forget, but we shouldn’t, I think. Those days brought us here. To one another and to you.” He gazed at the squirming Alihan and the awed Leyla. “The butterfly was a moment in time I stole. Every time I looked at it, I remembered what I felt in that exact moment when I saw her. Everything was wondrous. Nothing was impossible.”

Reyyan held her breath, unable to stop him from eulogizing like that in front of their kids. He murmured words like this often in the deep, dark of their nights, when the world was only them, but never in front of others. Even their children.

Leyla glanced at the broken butterfly, then at her father. Then at Reyyan.

“It was beautiful,” Leyla said. “I’m sorry, annem. I’m sorry, baba.”

“It’s alright, annem.” Reyyan said, feeling tired. She had different ideas of how this Sunday would go, but clearly, things never went as planned. Miran’s mood was dampened, too. She really wished she hadn’t told him now.

“Can I take the pieces?” Leyla said, looking from Reyyan to Miran. “Please?”

Suspicion in his voice, Miran asked, “What will you do with them?”

“It’s not as if I’m going to toss it on the street—” Reyyan gasped at the unintentional gibe her daughter had thrown her way “—I’ll fix it.” Leyla had barely finished speaking but the frown had vanished from Miran’s face at the _other_ remembrance.

Embarrassed, Reyyan did the only thing she could think of. “Isn’t this a beautiful ring too?” She held out the blue butterfly ring on her hand toward her children, glaring at Miran, who was now grinning. “It’s my engagement ring that I _always_ wear,” she emphasized. “It goes with the butterfly pin.”

“One day,” Leyla clapped, “I’ll fall in love too and will have hundreds of butterfly pins!”

“Gross,” said Alihan.

#

After the kids were off to the Şadoğlu Mansion, Reyyan returned upstairs. She paused at the table. The wooden table, its surface carved with bells and birds, had been witness to so much of her life, from the first day she stepped inside—thanks to Miran for carrying her in—to when they’d finally managed to get the house in their own name. To now, with her kids. The broken pieces of the pin were safely tucked in a wooden box in Leyla’s room, who had promised on the life of her favorite doll that she would repair it (“and this time, there would be new memories for free!”) and gift it back to her. Perhaps Leyla was right. What did the pin signify that could ever eclipse what Reyyan had now? She had walked on a path of raging fire and shattered glass, but it was all in the far past. She had her present, she had her future.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Miran slipped an arm around her waist, gently tugging her back toward him. She fitted perfectly against him, like they were two halves of the same star pulled out of the sky.

“Some morning,” he murmured, his nose tracing her cheekbone. She’d answer him if the headiness that arose only in Miran’s presence left any semblance of thought in her mind.

“Since our daughter has taken it upon herself to fix our past,” he said, “maybe I’ll take over in fixing our present.”

Leyla’s defiance, her determination. She really was Miran’s daughter. “Belli,” Reyyan said absentmindedly as they crossed the threshold of their bedroom.

“Ne belli?” whispered Miran. His words were feather-light on her skin, just as his hands. And with a laugh, Reyyan answered, “Ne demek ne belli?”


End file.
